A Simple Amish Christmas (3 page)

It was as if she was seeing it all for the first time.

No Christmas decorations yet adorned the room, and she smiled to think she would be here to place the candles in the windows.

A refrigerator, also gas-powered, hummed to the right side of the sink, and her
mamm’s
drying rack for dishes sat to the left.

This room was where Annie had grown up.

Sitting in it, waiting to hear her father’s condition, Annie wondered why she had ever left.

“What could be taking so long?” she asked.

“Adam, go and check.” Leah placed a mug of warm tea in her hands, sat beside her, and pulled her own chair closer—as if their proximity could somehow ease the blow of the terrible news.

Annie laced her fingers around the warm mug and was staring down into it when Samuel stepped from her parents’ room.

He was nothing like she remembered him, and of course she did remember Samuel Yoder.

The last time she’d seen him, he had been tending to a
kind
who had cut open his arm on the school playground. She had been out of school already, but she’d stopped by to deliver a book she’d borrowed. She’d stared in fascination as he’d sewn up the boy’s arm just as her
mamm
mended a tear in a skirt.

While the teacher had turned pale and pretended to have other duties to attend to, Annie had been completely absorbed by the procedure.

She’d had so many questions, none of which she’d dared ask.

What type of string did he use?

How did he cleanse the wound?

Where did he purchase the special needle?

Was the procedure something she could learn?

The picture had stayed in her mind as she’d worked first at the dry goods store in town, then at the small diner owned by her mother’s
schweschder
, and finally with the animals on their own farm.

At the first two jobs her employers had gently suggested she try something more suited to her temperament. Since the owners were members of their church, they preferred not to fire her, but they couldn’t keep her on when her ineptitude for the work was so painfully obvious to all.

Annie was relieved when the jobs came to an end.

Working for her
dat
had been no better.

Nothing had satisfied the desire born in her heart that day on the school grounds—nothing until she’d stepped into the halls of Mercy Hospital.

Samuel walked across to their kitchen table and accepted the warm mug Leah handed him. “
Danki
,” he muttered, his voice low and vibrant—sending Annie’s stomach tumbling.

When he raised his eyes to hers, Annie wondered if he even remembered that day so many years ago. From the surprised look he’d given her when she’d walked in, probably not.

No doubt she’d changed.

She studied him as he sipped the tea and spoke with Adam about the cold winds rattling their windows.

In the past three years, he’d grown more handsome.

Annie’s cheeks colored at the thought, but it was true.

His hair remained coal black with no streaks of gray, though he probably neared thirty years now. Samuel was six feet tall, thin but not skinny—if anything he’d filled out since that day so long ago, but it wasn’t his slight change in weight that captured Annie’s attention as he conversed with her
bruder
.

It was his eyes.

They were without a doubt his most startling feature—reminding her of a mare her
dat
had once owned. The horse was an amazing blue-black color, the color of the sky at night.

In the shadows thrown by the gas lamps, she could see worry lines radiating out from those compelling eyes, lines he was too young to sport. It occurred to her that Samuel’s burden of grief had only grown since she’d last seen him so many years ago.

Certainly the blow he’d received as a young man had been heavy.

She had been twelve at the time his
fraa
and
boppli
had died, and she could still remember standing beside the grave with her family while the two boxes were lowered into the ground side by side.

As the December wind shook their windows, she tried to remember the details of the accident, but couldn’t. Something about a snowstorm and the horse losing its way.

Does a heart not heal from such a terrible tragedy as he had suffered?

The question had barely found its way from her heart to her mind when he cleared his throat and began questioning her.

“Annie, do you realize the seriousness of your
dat’s
condition?” The question came out like an oral exam she’d once been given by a professor.

“
Mamm
told me both legs were broken and he’d lain injured a while in the cold before he was found.”

Samuel’s cheeks colored and he stared down into his tea. “
Ya
, that’s right. The breaks are quite bad. It looked to me as if his buggy might have been hit by one of the
Englisch
.”

He eyed her clothes and his voice hardened a bit on the last word. When she didn’t respond, he continued.

“The horse had to be put down.”

Annie’s hand flew to her mouth. She turned to Adam.

“It was the older mare
Dat
was so fond of, but Samuel’s right—it had to be done. There was no other option.”

Folding her hands in her lap to still their shaking, Annie nodded. Losing a horse was a tragedy for any family, but her father had survived. Best to focus on what they had to be grateful for.

“Your father was unconscious when I arrived.” Samuel met her gaze fully as the impact of his confession slammed into her.

“I don’t understand. Why did you—”

“All the men were out looking, Annie.” Adam reached over, placed his warm hand over Annie’s trembling ones. “We’re fortunate Samuel found him first.”

“He’d been lying in the cold too long, though.” Samuel’s voice remained detached, as if he were briefing her on a patient she might encounter on her morning rounds—not her father lying in the next room. “It settled into his lungs, and I’m very worried about that. One of his legs is a simple break. It should heal with no problems. The other has infection already.”

Annie pushed back from the table, began pacing between the stove and the chairs. “Then we should take him to the hospital—”

“He’s been to the hospital,” Samuel said. “Doctor Stoltzfus saw him, set both his legs and prescribed antibiotics.”

Realizing how serious it must be for her
dat
to agree to go to the hospital, Annie tried to grasp all that Samuel was saying.

In all the years she’d lived at home, she’d never known either of her parents to go to the hospital. She and each of her siblings had been born at home with the help of a midwife. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe in hospitals; her
dat
hadn’t ever felt the circumstances had warranted either the expense or the trip to one.

This situation was different.

It was grave.

Her father’s life must have been in jeopardy. Her pulse began to thunder, and she had trouble staying in the room.

She wanted to rush back to her
dat’s
side.

She wanted to call a driver and take him back to the
Englisch
.

She realized for the first time that he wouldn’t live forever. She’d always known that intellectually, but it was an entirely different thing to consider while sitting at the kitchen table.

“How is he now?” she asked. “I don’t understand why he’s here. Why he’s home.”

“It was your
mamm’s
decision to make.”

“But if it’s as serious as you say, then he came home too early.”

“Rebekah believes—and so do I—that we can handle him here at this point.”

“But it’s not
your
father lying in there, is it?” Her voice rose as she turned on him, ready to fight, ready to claw the admission out of him.

“Peace, Annie.” Leah stood and walked around the table. Stopping beside Annie, Leah trailed a hand down her hair, down her back, rubbing in soft circles. “Samuel wants what is best for Jacob as well.”

“Indeed I do. I count him as one of my closest
freinden
.” Samuel also stood, moved toward the stove as if to warm his hands, but in fact stepping closer to Annie and lowering his voice. “I won’t leave him with a girl who isn’t mature enough to handle the pressures. His recovery will be long. He’ll need constant attending, and your
mamm
needs someone who will stick with this job.”

So he did remember her.

Annie felt her chin come up even as the air left her lungs. “You needn’t worry about me, Mr. Yoder. I won’t be leaving my
dat’s
side until he’s well enough to drive the buggy again. Now if you’d like to leave your instructions.”

And not waiting to see if he followed, she turned and marched into her father’s room.

3

 

A
nnie woke the next morning unsure why she felt so comfortable, so right.

Then she heard her
dat’s
roosters crowing before the sun had lightened the sky. Gratitude washed over her, through her heart, and into her morning prayers as she contemplated her day.

She could not feel thankful for the tragedy her father had suffered, or the fact that she would have to endure Samuel Yoder’s insufferable, patronizing directions.

Replaying the conversation in her
dat’s
room—the one after she’d lost her composure in the kitchen—she questioned whether she should have admitted to Samuel that she was a nurse. She hadn’t even admitted that to her family yet. How could she explain it to Samuel? Her
mamm
and
dat
thought she’d spent the last three years living with her
aenti
and acting as a sort of live-in governess. Annie had never lied to them, but she was old enough to know a lie of omission was a lie nonetheless.

Rolling out of bed, Annie found her clothes neatly folded on top of the chest at the end.

The memory of last night’s discussion caused her cheeks to burn anew even as she dressed in the darkness.

Samuel might not realize she had medical training, but he still spoke to her as if she were a child younger than Reba—a child who couldn’t be trusted to change a Band-Aid correctly let alone a dressing.

“Is
Dat
worse?” Charity asked, sitting up in alarm.

“He’s fine. Go back to sleep. I’m used to waking early.”

“Earlier than on a farm? That’s hard to imagine.” Charity turned and burrowed deeper under the covers.

Annie tiptoed out of the room, carrying her shoes with her until she’d descended the stairs to the kitchen. Though it wasn’t yet five in the morning, her mother had already rekindled the fire in the potbellied stove that heated the living room and set water to boil on the stove in the kitchen. The two-stove system would have looked strange to anyone from her
aenti’s
house, but to Annie it immediately spoke of home.

She looked longingly toward the kitchen—a cup of hot tea would start her moving—but she decided to check on her patient before indulging herself.

Lacing her shoes, she moved quietly across the living room, noticing again that her
mamm
had begun none of the Christmas preparations. Her heart sang at that realization. No doubt the nativity scene had been cleaned off and lay ready in the barn. Perhaps they would set it out in front of the house on the weekend.

She stopped at her parents’ room and knocked gently on their door.

“Come in.” Her
mamm’s
voice was like a sweet balm over chapped skin.

In that moment, stepping through the doorway, Annie fully realized how much she had missed being home, being with her family, being with the people who loved her.

Rebekah sat beside the bed, knitting by the light of a kerosene lamp.

“How is he?”

Her
daed
lay sleeping, same as before. She’d yet to see him open his eyes. His quietness unsettled her. She was used to seeing him working, always working.

“He woke about an hour ago. Adam and I helped him to the bathroom, since he isn’t to put any weight on the leg yet. And I managed to coax a few spoonfuls of tea with honey down him. Go and make your own breakfast while he’s sleeping.” Rebekah reached up, accepted her kiss, and then returned to her knitting. “Go on now. You’ll have enough of this room by the time this day’s done.”

Smiling to herself, Annie made her way back into the kitchen. She’d worked quite a few twelve-hour shifts in the last six months, but she wasn’t quite sure how to explain those days to her mother.

And what good would it do?

The important thing was that now she was home.

Slipping the teabag into the cup and pouring the hot water over it, her thoughts returned to her prayer of thanksgiving— the one she’d uttered on rising.

She was grateful to be back in Mifflin County, grateful that she would be home for Christmas.

This was where she belonged.

Her heart had nearly stopped when Shelly had said her father had been in an accident. So many terrible things had passed through her mind.

Her
dat’s
condition was serious to be sure, but she had seen much worse.

Kiptyn’s face flashed in her memory, then Laquisha’s, Stanley’s, Logan’s. She had managed to stop by their rooms and tell them goodbye before she left, and she’d promised to write
to Kiptyn. It had seemed to her the boy’s color looked better by the time she’d cleaned out her locker, hopefully owing to the fact they had started the new medications the day before.

Hugging Annie goodbye, Shelly assured her she would watch over her patients and drop her a line as to the children’s status.

So much suffering in the world.

While Mercy Hospital—and facilities like them—provided a needed sanctuary for the sick, she preferred to nurse her father here.

Slicing a piece of her mother’s raisin bread and a red apple, she looked out the window to see if dawn was yet claiming the sky, driving back the night’s blackness, but it was too early.

A vision of Samuel Yoder’s brooding eyes pierced her calmness, but she pushed it away. She wouldn’t need to see him often, and there was another prayer of gratitude she would be offering up when she knelt by her bed. The Lord knew she had enough work, and enough men in this household, without adding one with a sharp attitude to the mix.

 

The morning passed as quickly as any she had spent on the ward at Mercy Hospital.

In the first hour, four heads popped around the corner of her
dat’s
door, in descending order. First Adam, coming in from the barns, then Charity on her way out to help Adam. Next came Reba—still yawning, and still protectively holding one hand over the pocket of her apron.

Each of her siblings whispered, “
Gudemariye
,” cast a worried eye toward their
dat
, and affirmed again how glad they were she was home.

Only her
mamm
motioned her outside the room. “He still hasn’t wakened?”

Annie shook her head. “I believe the herbs Samuel gave him are helping him sleep.”

“But it’s so unlike him—”

“Sleep is what his body needs.” Annie placed a hand on her mother’s arm, easily falling into the role of comforter—though it did strike her as ironic that she was consoling her mother.

It seemed as if just yesterday she had stood in this room explaining how she’d been asked to leave yet another job, and her mother had been the one promising everything would be all right.

“He’s never been in bed this late.” Rebekah’s voice creaked like the swings on the playground at school. “Not even the time he had the measles.”

Annie smiled at the story they had all laughed over so many times—laughed because it had ended well and the thought of her father tending the stock while he was broken out in the red bumps must have been a sight.

The measles weren’t a laughing matter among her people though. Since many in their community did not immunize their children, it remained something they had to vigilantly guard against.

“Rest is what he needs now. Go on to the store. We’ll be fine.”

Rebekah nodded, pulled herself up straighter as she tied the strings of her prayer
kapp.
“Your
bruder
is working here today. David Hostetler has agreed to help out, and Adam is going to show him what needs to be done.”

For a moment, Annie thought of confessing to her mother exactly what she’d been doing during her
rumschpringe
years. Perhaps if her
mamm
knew she’d been at school rather than running wild, she’d relax.

Pushing her hair back from her face, she decided while it might ease her own conscience, it likely wouldn’t help her
mamm
a bit. Rebellion was precisely that in the eyes of the Amish people—didn’t matter that it was schooling she had pursued while she was away.

The point was she sought that which was forbidden to them.

Best to leave it alone.

Her
mamm
had enough to deal with this morning.

“I’ll shout for Adam if I need anything.”

“Or ring the bell.”

“
Ya
, or I’ll ring the bell. I haven’t forgotten how we do things, you know.”

“Of course you haven’t.” Rebekah stopped gathering her things and pulled her close. “
Danki
for coming home.”

Annie wanted to say so much in that moment. Instead she merely returned her
mamm’s
hug, forced back her tears, and nodded. “
Gem gschehne.
Now go, or you’ll be late and the
Englischers
will be lined up outside the store waiting to purchase Mr. Fisher’s fine things.”

 

Two hours later, Annie was checking her
dat’s
vitals when his hand reached out and covered hers. The sight of his weathered hand lying gently over hers caused tears to sting her eyes. She drew in a deep breath, willed herself not to cry, and reminded herself that she was a professional.

“Please tell me you’re hungry.”

“
Ya.
Seems like you don’t feed your patients much around here.” His voice was weaker than she remembered, but those blue eyes opened with a twinkle, and a smile pulled his beard that was streaked through with gray.

Annie forgot for a moment that she was a registered nurse.

She threw herself into her father’s arms, buried herself in the smell of him—a smell that still held the barns and the fields, though he hadn’t been there in over forty-eight hours. It wasn’t until he patted her clumsily and began wheezing that she pulled back, wiping at the tears streaming down her face.

“Did I give you so big a scare?” Jacob asked, his voice cracking.

“You did. I suppose you did.” She flew to the pitcher of water, poured him a glass and held it to his lips as he struggled to sit up.

Drinking even a little tired him, and he lay back against the pillows with a sigh. Looking out at the daylight, he shook his head, plainly unhappy. “Must be nearing nine in the morning.”

“Don’t worry about the farm. Adam’s here, and David Hostetler is coming.”

He nodded, but looked no happier.

“What do you feel like eating? Maybe some bread first, or tea—”

“Wait.” His voice stopped her more quickly than the hand that reached out to grasp her wrist. “I remember the hospital and a doctor.…”

“Doctor Stoltzfus set your legs.” Annie said it gently, not sure if he realized yet the extent of his injuries.

Jacob nodded, not looking down at the covers—bunched high from the casts covering both his left and right legs from knee to ankle.

“
Ya.
He spoke with me when I first arrived. I don’t remember anything of the procedure though.”

“Your left leg is a simple break, according to Samuel. It should heal quickly.”

“Samuel was here?” Jacob turned his attention from the window to her.

“He found you, in the snow late that night, then rode with you to the hospital.”

“Yesterday?”

“Day before yesterday. You’ve been sleeping quite a bit.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“What about the accident?” Annie didn’t want to tire or upset him, but she’d learned with patients that often their first memories were their clearest. “The police have no leads.”

“Why are the police involved?”

“You don’t remember anything?”

Confusion clouded his face now, and Annie was sure if she felt his pulse she’d find it had accelerated. He shook his head and attempted to sit up straighter.

“Let me help you.” She plumped his pillows, positioned them behind his back and head.

“The first thing I remember is waking up in the hospital, with Dr. Stoltzfus and your
mamm
standing over my bed.”

Annie thought of waiting until her
mamm
had returned to tell him, but she knew there would be no putting her
dat
off. She also suspected he wouldn’t rest until he’d had the entire story.